


Worker's Day Parade

by spacetrash_uwu



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Character with They/Them Pronouns, Fluff, Genderbending, International worker's day, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23938939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacetrash_uwu/pseuds/spacetrash_uwu
Summary: Commie asked Ancom to join her to the parade. They agree, but only because Commie is so damn excited about it.
Relationships: leftist unity - Relationship
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	Worker's Day Parade

Ancom slouched in their seat while Commie excitedly looked out the subway window for which station they were at. It was very much unlike her; her usual cold demeanor, drowning in theory and dry excursions on economics, had all but vanished in favor of her bouncing around between the seats, getting her large flagpole caught in the strap bars overhead.

“We’re here!” she exclaimed, trying to keep her voice shushed as to not annoy the other passengers; most of them only looked on, slightly befuddled by what she was doing. Some passengers, mostly old folks, were dressed in equally striking red colors and also moved to get out at their station. Ancom had been absentminded for most of the ride, dark rings under their eyes and make up smudged because there was no way in hell they were going to get properly ready this fucking early in the morning. Who the hell held a parade before noon?

“Come on, get up,” Commie pulled them up by their hand and Ancom was reminded of why they had agreed to come to this in the first place; that tingling burn in their palm as Commie’s hand clasped tightly around theirs. They were wearing fingerless gloves, but the heat burned straight through them as they stumbled after Commie and out of the subway. She always walked much more quickly than they did, long, confident strides outpacing Ancom’s meandering gait with ease, but today she was practically jogging towards the escalator.

“Slow down,” Ancom complained as they let themselves be dragged.

“No, we’re late,” Commie said without turning around, “because you insisted on getting a ‘morning snack’.”

“Morning snacks are great.”

“It’s called breakfast, Anarkitty, and I offered some to you when we were still at home and not yet late.”

There it was again, the reason they were willing to get up before noon; this time it manifested as a fluttery feeling in the pit of their stomach as Commie’s sonorous voice carried the pet name.

They arrived above ground and Commie’s face broke out in uncharacteristic joy; all her usual melancholy and brooding was blown away by childish enthusiasm as her wide eyes grazed over the crowd that had assembled around the broad promenade along which the parade took place.

“Do you see that? That’s the united proletariat.” Commie’s soaring heart became practically audible with her words; she hooked her arm under Ancom’s and made to become part of the crowd.

“You know, if you like this kind of stuff, protests are pretty much like this as well,” Ancom offered, admittedly not quite convinced; demos tended to be a lot wilder. The people here were walking in perfect order, instead of techno blaring from speakers there were marching bands, and instead of banners with witty slogans there were only flags, and all the same ones, too: all striking red with a white circle and three white arrows crossing it.

As if on cue, Commie unfolded her own flag; it was one of the largest around as Ancom noticed with some appreciation.

“No,” she said as she struggled to get the thing to not fly into her face, “we’re not marching against anything here; this is no protest. This is a show of unity. The proletariat has congregated to celebrate its many victories over the past centuries.”

Ancom swallowed; they felt it was an unintentional jab, but they dropped it. Commie looked honestly stunning today, dressed in all red and black, looking like both revolution and pride personified with her leather jacket and combat boots. Ancom had seen people like her on their protests as well; they agreed on so much, it was only fair they had come with her today even if they didn’t quite fit in in their shabby oversized hoodie, the only red item on them the stripes on their otherwise black stockings. They pulled up their bandanna, obscuring their face.

Commie frowned. “Don’t hide yourself. This is a show of pride,” she said, but didn’t reach out to do it herself.

Ancom pulled the fabric back down; it had been more of a reflex. In their experience, it was usually not such a good idea to be seen at marches.

As they marched along with the other attendants, Ancom found themselves not really getting it. There were no chants, no upbeat music, no drugs, no party. Because it wasn’t a protest. There was no goal other than showing up. It was a celebration, and not a mission, and it didn’t suit Commie’s normal, efficient nature; but the way she walked, head held high and steely eyes directed ahead, Ancom couldn’t help but be happy they got to share the moment.

“We’re commemorating worker’s rights.” Commie’s voice was like honey, much sweeter than when she was barking orders and Ancom wanted her to keep talking forever. “I complain often about how today, the neoliberal scum is winning and late stage capitalism and the existential dread of it all,” she looked up at the sky, the sun shining down brightly at the parade as if to tell them that it approved. “But it used to be so much worse; children dying in droves, workers kept like cattle. But we’ve driven away so much evil in some parts of the world, and from here it will only spread to every other region.”

Ancom wanted to roll their eyes at the pathetic short speech, wanted to say something acrid about imperialist and racist structures, but bit their tongue. They had their drugs to be happy on days when they thought their cause was hopeless, and Commie had her memories of her parades.

They reached the end of the march, all the attendants congregating to form a somehow colorful red sea in front of a stage where socialist politicians began to speak; Ancom didn’t listen, unwilling to have their thoughts poisoned by statists, and instead focused their gaze on Commie’s strong jawline and the new brightness in her eyes.

They knew why they were here; it was embarrassing and stupid and a betrayal to their values, but Commie was beautiful and strong and egalitarian and their heart threatened to jump out of their chest whenever she looked at them the way she looked at the podium right now: proud.

The speeches, long and boring and using the same strangely flowery language Commie was so fond of, finally ended and suddenly, all attendants that had been sitting on park benches rose to their feet. Ancom looked from side to side, confused, when they felt Commie’s hand lace into their own, squeezing. Commie’s hypnotizing eyes met theirs as she began singing one of those horribly outdated songs, her chest swelling as the voices around her gained volume and quickly, the whole area was filled with the ardent melody of the Internationale.

Ancom pretended to sing along, ignoring the stark blush that rose to their cheeks when Commie refused to let go of their hand.

They met some of Commie’s friends at the booths afterwards, Ancom only half-enthusiastically nipping at the drinks offered; they preferred their drugs as pills or powders, but Commie had been rather adamant about their habits possibly ‘ruining’ the whole experience for her. Ancom could adapt, especially if it resulted in the taller woman drawing them close whenever someone asked who they were and pridefully explaining they were an anarchist, but would ‘get there eventually’. They disagreed, but honestly, there was no denying how uplifting it felt to see the socialists harmoniously talking about their lofty ideals, confidently making plans for a red future. They'd let her have her moment.

The evening turned into night, and the attendants began drunkenly bawling old communist songs. Commie swayed with them, her arm slung around Ancom. She was more than tipsy herself, while Ancom had for a change stayed relatively sober; it was a day of switched roles, and Ancom didn’t mind as much as they would’ve thought.

“Want to head out for a bit?” Commie nuzzled their ear, hot breath causing goosebumps to run all over them. They nodded, shortly unable to speak, and they more tripped than walked out, Ancom much too weak to fully support their much taller comrade.

The cool air of a spring night ghosted over their bodies, huddled together still, as Commie looked up at the stars.

“Looking for aliens?” Ancom joked.

Commie scrunched her brows, angling her head down at Ancom; their faces were dangerously close and really, at this point Commie must’ve been doing this on purpose. Ancom’s breath hitched as the taller woman’s expression, flushed from the alcohol, softened, prior confusion forgotten.

“You’re so pretty in the night, Anarkitty.”

There was that feeling again; nausea, but good. Ancom wanted more of it. Wanted Commie to call them Anarkitty until the sun rose behind the cityscape.

“Am I?” They forced themselves to sound nonchalant.

Commie began laughing, sharp smile gleaming in the soft light coming from the tent behind them.

“Yes. You were made for the night,” she cupped their cheek, running her thumb over their jawline; Ancom shuddered. “You don’t belong in the sun, but under the moon and the stars.”

“Stop,” Ancom giggled, “That sounds really lame,” they tried to wind out of her touch, but Commie followed them; Ancom tripped over a flagpole leaning against the tent wall, falling and tearing Commie right down with them, the flag landing on top of them both and covering them in the now pale red.

Ancom’s breathing turned shallow as Commie’s body laid flush atop them, delicious weight pressing them down into the soil and their fingers still interlaced from when Commie had tried to prevent the fall. Her eyes were somewhat glazed over, but Ancom had never minded people in hazy states of mind; her expression was still sincere, maybe even more so than when she muddled her intentions with theory and brooding. They felt hot all over, unable to talk or move, at the mercy of Commie seemingly getting lost in staring at them.

She was hesitant, and Ancom cursed the gods they didn’t believe in as they waited the painful seconds for her to finally make up her mind.

Finally, under the canopy of stars and with the dull merrymaking noises coming from the tent, Commie leaned down, pressing their lips together much more tightly than Ancom had expected. Her hand tightened around theirs as Commie wrapped herself around them, kiss turning fervent. Ancom opened their mouth, a small gasp escaping them when they finally got what they wanted.

Commie was relentless, kissing them until they thought they were about to suffocate; only when Ancom regretfully pushed at her shoulder did she release them, looking slightly dejected. Ancom breathlessly grinned up at her, eyes darting at the tent they were still lying right next to.

“Should we, like, move?” they whispered, surprised they still had half a mind to even notice their surroundings when the most stunning girl in the world gazed down at them with increasingly hungry eyes.

The singing started again inside the tent.

“I didn’t think you of all people would be shy,” she half said, half laughed, trailing kisses along Ancom’s neck and turning them into a pathetic puddle of gasps and whines. “Socialists are heavy drinkers,” she purred into their ear, “none of them will notice anything.”

Ancom didn’t think Commie could look mischievous, but she did at that moment, and even more so as her hand traveled down, running under their hoodie. They couldn’t help the moan that escaped them as her fingertips lightly grazed their skin, exploring their body before beginning to squeeze down greedily on their flesh.

“ _Fuck_ , Commie!”

The breathy moans turned into wide-eyed squealing when Commie’s hands trailed even lower, finding their way under the short skirt Ancom may or may not have chosen to wear today in the vague hopes of exactly this happening. They wrapped their legs around her waist as they forgot about the tent and the world and even the stars, first only feeling Commie slowly pushing her fingers in and out of them; then Commie brought up her free hand to angle their head so that they looked into each other’s eyes. They heard Commie’s laborious panting and it was the hottest thing in the whole world, besides maybe her fingers finding the perfect angle. Their squeaks got even louder, more encouraging, and Commie’s lips parted as she more studied their face than looked at it.

“Please, Commie, _more_ , just a little-”

Commie finally tore her gaze away, leaning back down to kiss them, deep and voracious as she swallowed Ancom’s moans.

It was enough to teeter Ancom over the edge, and they came with a pitiful whine, legs tightening around Commie a last time before they turned into more of a boneless, satisfied mass than a person.

Commie finished with a groan soon after, resting her head in the crook of Ancom’s neck. Her heavy breathing drowned out all other sounds; Ancom drank it up, reveling in the beauty of it. Eyes closed, they felt Commie roll off of them and whimpered. They were appeased at once, Commie curling up to them to spoon them from behind, flag still working to cover them as their legs intertwined.

“Thank you for joining me today,” Commie murmured, body radiating warmth. “It meant a lot to me.”

Ancom purred contentedly. “It was my pleasure.”

Commie kissed the back of their head, sniffing at their hair while she was at it. Ancom giggled.

“Next time, you’re joining me to a protest.”

Commie wrapped her arms tighter around the small anarchist, intent on keeping them warm.

“Of course. Mutual aid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Worker's Day! It would be silly not to post some cute Leftist Unity shit on this lovely occasion, so here it is!
> 
> Sadly, that cost me the time I would've spent updating my regular fic, but that's a sacrifice I'm obviously willing to make.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


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